I hit the road with KG and sped over to the Calverton Golf Course. Along the way, I caught sight of a few faded signs for the old Baytastic Amusement Park & Zoo. Pretty sure that place shut down the summer after we graduated high school. Nowadays, I cringed, remembering the wild animals in tiny cages with thick bars and concrete floors. So far removed from the more modern work at recreating a more natural environment for them. Even so, I had fond memories of going there each summer. We’d ride the rickety wooden roller coaster, play carnival games, and eat way too much funnel cake.
Baytastic was where Azalea and Rory went on their first date together back in high school. Soon, it became their favorite place to go. I was ordered to tag along. I don’t know if Nana Z thought I would be a chaperone or if she had something else in mind, but mainly, I was a third wheel, usually unable to find my own date. Besides, they always ditched me as soon as Nana Z was out of sight, so I ended up wandering the place on my own for a few hours at a time. As fun as it was, being there alone multiple times got boring quickly, especially when I didn’t have any extra cash.
I blamed Azalea at the time, but looking back, I knew she was just young and in love. She wanted to move to Rose Mallow as soon as she graduated high school to be with Rory. However, our parents and Nana Z ordered her to go to college first. I think they were trying to break the two up, but it didn’t work. She and Rory got married all of three weeks after she graduated. She started working at an antique store, while he found handyman jobs before working for a car dealership.
I wanted to go anywhere else besides Rose Mallow. Sure, I had made a couple of decent friends here, but I wanted to see the rest of the world. Driving around now, though, I hadn’t realized how much I had missed this place. I wondered how many of those old friends were still local. Maybe I should look them up after everything settles down?
Although I got to the press report a little late, the television crew was still setting up. Although there were a few media folks there, most people were milling around. I think many looked confused why they had been sent down here to the middle of nowhere. It didn’t look as formal as I had expected. I had imagined a stage and backdrop with chairs in neat rows for a dozen media outlets. This looked more like an impromptu cocktail party with a few video cameras around.
“I know you.” Orson Bradford, the titular Professor Treasure Hunter, strolled up to me. “Who are you with? CNN? NBC? One of those web things?”
“I’m not press. I’m a librarian.”
“Librarian. That makes sense. With Smithsonian?” He looked like he was still trying to put my face together with his memory. After he drunkenly hit on me at the last Society of Rare Book Librarians conference, I wasn’t particularly interested in helping him figure my identity out.
“No, Library of Congress.”
“Aha! The good ole LOC! I’m glad they sent you. They should be excited about this finding. It is extraordinary.” His smile was enormous, and his teeth were almost neon white. They positively glowed. He sported a neatly trimmed white beard that matched his close-cut white hair. He wore rimless rectangular glasses. He reminded me of a Santa Claus in a J. Peterman catalog.
Should I explain? Would it help or hinder? I couldn’t decide.
“They didn’t send me.”
However, I don’t think he heard. Instead, a look of recognition splashed across his face. “Oh goodness…. Library of Congress…. Oh no. You were the young woman at the SRBL conference. Your name was, I mean is, something floral. Lily? Daisy?”
“Juniper.”
“Right, right. Juniper.” To my surprise and amazement, he bowed low in front of me. “My dear Juniper, I must apologize. After my talk at the conference, well, I hadn’t eaten enough, but I had too much to drink. If my rather fuzzy memory serves me correctly, I was rather uncouth towards you that evening. My deepest apologies for my behavior.”
I was impressed. He had seemed so full of himself at the conference that I would never have imagined him capable of an apology. I hadn’t expected him to remember who I was, assuming I was just another face in the crowd for a celebrity like him.
“May I make it up to you?” he asked. “Would you be kind enough to join me for lunch at the Calverton Club? I’d love to introduce you to my dear friend Leonard Calverton. As a librarian, you’d appreciate their family’s collection of colonial-era materials.”
This was hard. As much as I didn’t really want to spend time with him, the opportunity to see the family’s collection was intriguing. Perhaps they had something that might shine light on this whole Kells mystery.
“Yes, I’d love to—”
Before I could finish my sentence, Ruth Collins popped in. “It’s time to start, Orson.”
Orson bowed again. He took my hand and kissed it. I wasn’t crazy about the gesture, but I appreciated the sentiment. Ruth certainly didn’t. She hunched her shoulders and made a face. Her top lip squeezed into an unhappy Elvis Presley curl. I wasn’t sure if that was directed at him or me.
I settled into the crowd. I spotted Deputy Torres from last night, alongside a woman I hadn’t seen before. She was tall with raven black hair pulled into a crisp bun. Her face suggested she was from India or of Indian descent. She sported an all-black pantsuit with a deep orange blouse and an expensive set of sunglasses crowning her head. I wondered both about who she was and about Deputy Torres. He obviously knew Azalea, but I was picking up some vibes I couldn’t quite name.
Before I could think about it further, Orson Bradford walked up to the lectern and started talking. “Today is a momentous day. For more than a thousand years, a treasure of the world has been missing without a trace. Now, centuries later, we finally have substantial clues to hopefully lead us back to this masterwork.”
He paused and took a sip of water from a cup on the lectern. “Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the rumors you’ve heard are true. Today, we begin the journey of rediscovering the missing covers for the Book of Kells. Here in Maryland.”
Hands immediately flew up around me, but I wanted to fall down. How was this possible? How did he know about the Book of Kells connection to Rose Mallow? He must have spoken to Rory, but when and how? The coded language of the television crew this morning suddenly made more sense to me. They knew this was coming. I looked over at Deputy Torres and the woman beside him. Did they know? Is that why they were here?
Orson fluttered his hands in front of him to shush the crowd. He continued, saying, “There will be time for questions shortly.”
He gave a rough history of the Book of Kells. Ruth placed a very large photo of one of the illustrated pages on an easel behind him. He explained about the mysterious covers, which may have been a physical shrine for the book more than just a hardback covering, and how all is known is that they were golden and bejeweled.
“But how could the Book of Kells be in Maryland?” asked a reporter, interrupting Orson’s history lesson. I thought she was from ABC, but I wasn’t positive. “Here in, uh, Rose Mallow?” She consulted her notes to check the town’s name. “Isn’t that book in Ireland?”
“The book is indeed in Ireland,” said Orson, staring down his nose. “But I’m talking about their covers. They were removed and disappeared long ago.”
“What makes you think they’re here? Do you have any evidence?” another reporter asked.
“Yes, yes, yes. Of course. Ms. Collins?” He gestured towards her. She pulled out another large image. A familiar one. It was the map that Rory had texted me. Still faded, but not nearly as much as mine had been. I suspected their team had better Photoshop skills than Keisha or I did.
“A treasure map, if you will, to the location. You see this X here? That is where we are now, at the Calverton Golf Course. And I am pleased to announce that the Calverton Family, under Leonard Calverton himself, has granted permission for us to conduct an archaeological survey of this area. Good news, it won’t impact anyone wishing to play a round,” he said. There was some polite laughter, but mostly, I saw confused faces, ready to interrupt with more questions.
I had several questions myself. I had a strong feeling that he, too, knew about the diary, since the map wasn’t much without that context. Mainly, I wanted to know how he had acquired them, since as of yesterday, they had been in the hands of my currently missing brother-in-law.
Orson took a few questions, but he gave vague answers. He promised little when it came to a timeline, except to say they’d invite everyone back “soon.”
When asked about why Maryland, he went on a lengthy discourse, saying in part, “As we all remember from our school days, Maryland differed from the other colonies. We of course, remember the Puritans in New England and the Quakers in Pennsylvania, but Maryland wasn’t the Protestant utopia some of these other places were. Instead, this colony was founded as a Catholic safe haven. When Oliver Cromwell was leading his own version of a holy war across the British Isles, hundreds, if not thousands, of Catholic believers descended on Maryland for safety and the freedom to practice their religion.
“It was during this time in the 1650s that we believe a group of Roman Catholic refugees from Ireland escaped to Maryland. They brought their holiest of treasures, one they had been secretly safeguarding for centuries, here to escape persecution. The covers of the Book of Kells.”
There was a sudden silence as everyone considered what he said. It lasted mere moments before there was a flurry of activity. People rushed up to him, wanting to know more. He waved them away and hurried out under the watchful eye of Ruth Collins.
After the announcement, I debated who to follow. I didn’t really take Orson seriously about the lunch offer, and besides, he had been whisked away pretty quickly. There was the mysterious woman with Deputy Torres that had piqued my interest, but I assumed that if the police wanted to speak with me, they knew how to find me. The rest of the TV team was still packing up, so I went towards them. Perhaps they could elaborate more about his remarkable announcement.
I found the woman with the Dinotopia tattoo. “I’m sorry, I still don’t know everyone’s names,” I said. She laughed brightly and held out a hand.
“Ashley Mullers.” She pointed to the rest of the team as they worked on packing up. The tall man was Eric, while the goateed guy was Jeremy.
“Does Ruth work for the Chronos Channel?”
“Oh, uh, sort of. She’s Orson’s personal assistant. We’re more of a roving crew working on various assignments,” Ashley explained.
“That was a very unexpected announcement,” I said.
Ashley nodded. “Yeah, I guess more for you than most others. How weird is it that you came to town for the same reason?”
“How weird indeed.” The woman with Deputy Torres walked up to us. She held out her badge. “Detective Lakshmi Gupta. I’m investigating the death of Tess O’Doyle and the disappearance of Rory Walsh. I take it you’re Juniper Blume?”
I nodded. Well, at least that explained who she was. Looking at her badge, I saw she was with the county’s sheriff’s office.
“Have you found anything more yet? Have you located Rory?” She gave a quick shake of the head but didn’t elaborate. “Okay. So then, what can I do for you, Detective?”
Meanwhile, Ashley took this as a cue to back away. She focused on packing, but she was still obviously within earshot range. I wondered if this would all end up on TV somehow. I shuddered at the idea.
“I wanted to talk to you, since we didn’t cross paths last night,” Detective Gupta said.
“Right now?” I looked around, noting the various media outlets still cleaning up. I really didn’t want to talk more around them any more than I did around the Chronos Channel folks.
“Not here. Why don’t we connect a bit later today so you can give me your version of events?” The detective handed me a business card.
“My cellphone was broken last night, but I will call you from the Wildflower Inn,” I said. “But I accessed the photos from my phone. Did Deputy Torres tell you about those? I’ll email them to you once I’m back.”
“That’d be good. I’ll also be having a little chat with the Professor over there to learn a bit more about his documents,” Detective Gupta said.
I couldn’t help asking, “Don’t you think it’s strange?” She cocked her left eyebrow. “I mean, that Rory told me about this 17th-century diary with a map and that Orson has one, too? Do you think it’s the same one? Maybe one’s a fake? Or maybe they both are?” I was thinking aloud as I talked. The detective listened intently. “I think it’s a remarkable coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“I don’t either.” There had to be a connection. I didn’t know what it could be. At least not yet. Was Orson somehow involved with Tess’s murder and Rory’s disappearance? However, I had a hard time imagining that he would flaunt the diary if he was. Perhaps I had underestimated his ego. I didn’t like it, but I knew I needed to have his promised lunch date. Maybe that would reveal more.
Then, I remembered something the detective said. “Did you say that Tess’s last name is O’Doyle?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“That’s what Rory called the diary. He said it was the O’Doyle diary.”
“Interesting,” she said, but nothing else.
I promised the detective again that I’d check in with her soon. In the meantime, I headed towards the club and hoped that I could finagle my way in to see Orson. It seemed like half of the press junket had the same plan, as we were all trudging across the golf course to the club’s dining room. Multiple large, bulky men stood guard at the door. They refused to let anyone in without proper ID or a guest.
“But Orson promised that we’d meet for lunch,” I said to the men.
“Sure, sure, Miss. And my wife promised me a fire truck for my birthday,” replied the one on the left. He was bald with a single gold earring.
The man on the right perked up at this. “I hope you get it.”
The left bodyguard sighed and shook his head. “Ignore him. Either way, you’re not getting in.”
“Oh, and why not?” Orson came to the dining room door. “Juniper, here, is my most interesting date. Did you know that this fantastic woman works for the Library of Congress?” He held his arm out, which I reluctantly took.
“I didn’t,” said the guard on the right with the amazement of a small child. “That’s the place with every book ever published, right?”
“Not quite every book,” I explained, but Orson shook his head and swiftly ushered me inside. The bodyguards didn’t stop him. As soon as we were past them, I dropped his arm.
“I’m so pleased you’ll join me. It’ll be much less noisy—and nosy—in here.” Orson walked quickly with broad steps. I had to double-time to keep up with him. He led me to a foursquare table at a window overlooking the golf course. “Here, here, please.”
I sat down and debated what would be a “sensible” lunch to get. Probably salad. That seemed to be the acceptable and professional option. Not that it’s what I wanted. While I’ve had a few decent salads in my life, the majority have involved bland lettuce soaked in a monsoon of dressing. Would I have to pay for this? I was scared to look at the prices on the menu.
“Get anything you’d like. My treat. Personally, may I suggest the steak?”
“Thank you. I’m a vegetarian, but I appreciate the recommendation.”
“Then may I steer you towards the absolute best pasta you will ever taste, short of going to Italy, of course? They make it from scratch in-house and use this delicious array of wild mushrooms. It’s perfectly doused in a truly decadent cashew cream sauce. Oh, I may decide to get it myself,” Orson said. His eyes got a dreamy look, apparently recalling the last time he had enjoyed the dish. It did sound magical, but that much pasta also sounded like it’d put me down for a long afternoon nap.
“Now, Orson, is a heavy, rich pasta the best choice for a TV star?” Ruth appeared from nowhere. She began to take a seat, but Orson flashed her such an incredulous look that she stopped in midair, creating a very awkward version of yoga’s chair pose.
“I believe that this decision is between my guest and myself.” Each word was a dagger thrust directly at her. I was shocked by how cold he suddenly became. “Besides, I have asked Juniper here to discuss an amazing, certainly life-changing opportunity.”
“I don’t have any of these details,” Ruth interjected. She apparently wasn’t going to give up without a fight.
“You wouldn’t. Now, may I have some privacy? Why don’t you join the TV crew for a bit?” He waved her away with a flick of his wrist. I watched a parade of emotions quickly pass across Ruth’s face, including what was obviously outrage and disgust. Each feeling disappeared almost as soon as they had started, and she put on a stoic, neutral expression like a mask. With that dismissal, she nodded, almost bowed, and then moved on.
I was unsure of how to respond after that unsettling incident. What had transpired between them? Was he going to suddenly turn cold to me? I was shocked when he turned back to me, all sunshine and smiles.
“My apologies for that interruption. Now, my dear Juniper, I saw your presentation at the Society for Rare Book Librarians conference, and it really stuck with me. You are obviously smart as a whip. Although I’ve never known why that was the saying? Anyway, may I ask you what you know about the Book of Kells?”
I was taken aback. I probably should have expected the question after this morning’s announcement, but for whatever reason, I simply hadn’t. I wondered if he knew about my connection to the O’Doyle diary and Rory and how much to say.
“I know it’s one of the most incredible books ever created. Seeing Kells in person in Dublin was one of the biggest highlights of my career. That the missing covers would be here in Maryland, of all places. Why, it’s almost beyond my imagination.”
“Ah, but as you say, it’s ‘almost’ beyond.” He leaned across the table towards me. “I need your research expertise. Here is what I know. Maryland was a place Catholics sought refuge while Oliver Cromwell and his army trampled through Ireland in the mid-1600s. So why wouldn’t some Irish believer bring them here, far away from his reach?”
“Fair enough,” I said, “except the covers had already been missing for over 600 years by that point—long before the first colonists landed anywhere in North America. Besides, before long, this so-called Catholic safe haven became quite the tough place for Catholics to live. Have you heard of the Toleration Act?”
He shook his head. After Rory contacted me yesterday, I spent much of the afternoon catching back up on my Maryland colonial history to better understand if it made sense to bring the covers here. I found some of it to be surprising.
“The Toleration Act was created in 1649 to help ensure religious freedom between Catholics and Protestants,” I told him. “However, the Act didn’t develop as some great proactive measure. Instead, it was passed in response to rising tensions. So, would this have been a safe place to bring the covers, assuming they still existed? I’m just not sure it adds up.”
“Interestingly, the only person ever to be prosecuted under the Toleration Act was Maryland’s first known Jewish resident, a Portuguese immigrant named Jacob Lumbrozo. Down in St. Mary’s City, he was tried for blasphemy. As much as the Toleration Act had been billed as supporting religious tolerance, no one apparently considered that there might be any other religions here as well.” Being Jewish, I couldn’t help shaking my head.
To my surprise, Orson chuckled. “I like your inquisitive spirit, Juniper.”
He might have said more, but the waiter appeared to take our order. I threw caution to the wind and got the mushroom pasta Orson had suggested. After we ate, Orson turned to me and said, “I have a proposal for you. I need a researcher of your caliber. Would you consider joining me on my quests?”
I sat there dumbfounded for a few moments. Instead of answering him directly, I asked what had been bothering me since this morning began. “How did you learn about the covers being here? How did you know about the O’Doyle diary?”
Orson nodded. He must have expected the question. “I received a, well, let’s say it was a ‘communique,’ if you will, from a person in the area. At the moment, I’d rather not name my source, but I have had people authenticate it. It was good enough for Leonard Calverton to fund this exploration of ours.”
“Have you seen the covers yet? I’ve heard they might not be traditional book covers but more of a shrine that had enclosed the book.” I pictured a golden reliquary covered in filigree and encrusted with gemstones, but I didn’t know if that was accurate.
Orson hummed. “Well, no, not yet, but….” He leaned across the table towards me. “That’s why it will make for such good TV to be there when they’re unearthed. To get that raw emotion.” He paused for a moment, apparently considering his next words. “Besides, the person giving me the diary can’t back out now if the entire world is in on it.”
“Wait.” His words struck me deeply. “Giving? Back out? You don’t have the diary yet?”
“I have enough to get started. Several nice scans were sent to us. I was supposed to have more, but I think my source got cold feet.” He shrugged, but I caught a dark look slide across his face.
I sat there, confused. “But what about Rory disappearing?”
This time, confusion crossed over Orson’s face. “Who is Rory? Oh, wait, is that the man the police are searching for? Something to do with that bartender’s death?”
“Barista,” I corrected automatically. “And….” I was about to say that, of course, these things were connected, but I realized he didn’t know. Either he was a better actor than I had ever given him credit for, or he honestly did not know that his pursuit was connected somehow to last night’s events. Not that I yet knew how they were connected, but it seemed impossible to me they weren’t. Who was his source? What had the person promised? And was that person part of why Rory was missing?
Before I could say more, a good-looking young man interrupted us. He had a movie star feel to him. He sported an immaculate suit with thin pinstripes that honestly could have been pure spun silver. There was a streak of pure platinum through his dark hair, although his face suggested he was barely older than thirty. “Please excuse me, Orson,” he said, “But I wanted to check to see how things were going.”
“Oh, fine, fine. Leonard, may I introduce Juniper Blume? She is a rising star at the Library of Congress, although I’m hoping she can be convinced to join my team,” he replied.
Leonard? This was Leonard Calverton? I had expected a much older patriarch, perhaps even older than Orson. Looking closer at him, I decided Leonard had to be around the same age that I was. There was something familiar about him, but I couldn’t place where I had seen him before.
Leonard flashed a truly brilliant smile. “An absolute pleasure, Ms. Blume. Please, though, call me Leo. You’re from the Library of Congress?”
“Yes, although I’m not representing them. I’m just here because I’m curious about whether the Kells’ covers are really in Rose Mallow.” I decided not to mention anything about Rory and Tess.
“Perhaps I could give you a tour?”
“You need to agree, Juniper. Their collection is a real treat.” Orson said with what I believed was a genuine smile.
“I’d love to join you.” I was incredibly curious to see the collection. Besides, I wasn’t sure how to respond to Orson’s proposal, so getting away would give me time to think through his offer.
Leo and I walked down a long hallway with large windows facing the club. He led me to an elevator and took it down a few levels to where the collections were stored. “It’s grown to quite the collection, really. My grandfather started it—mainly focused on documents and objects important to colonial Maryland. My mother expanded the focus to early America. And now, I’m working on ensuring everything will be properly cared for and can be shared with anyone interested. My family has been resistant to opening our treasures to the public, but I don’t see how it helps anyone if it’s cloistered away here.”
“Yes, that resonates with me. Working at the Library of Congress is an honor, but we exist to serve everyone—regardless of who they are or where they come from. I believe deeply in sharing information as widely as possible.” I thought back to an argument I’d had with my boss, Greyson, yesterday morning. He was great at collections stewardship but terrible with the general public, typically acting like the Library of Congress shouldn’t be for everyone but only those who met his snobbish standards. He didn’t seem to think I met them either. I paused, remembering our argument. Was that yesterday? It felt nearly a lifetime ago.
“I’m glad you feel that way. I wish everyone did. My family has long been viewed as ‘kings on the hill,’ but I truly want to change that perception.” He fiddled with his keys to find the right one to open the first collections storage area. He paused and ran his hand through his hair. Then I remembered where I’d seen him before.
“Do you ever go into town?” I asked. He looked like the so-called “French billionaire” that I had seen in the Purple Oyster yesterday. If it hadn’t been Leo, it must have been a close relative. It was unnerving to realize that the billionaire part might be right. Even more unsettling was realizing he would have been one of the last people to see Tess alive.
“From time to time, but honestly, I felt unwelcome there, even having grown up in the area. I feel like everyone is always staring at me.” He shrugged. He found the right key and opened the door wide for both of us to go through.
“You should try visiting Rose Mallow again,” I said lightly.
He considered it and said, “Well, I might if you would join me? Perhaps for dinner? Tomorrow night or the night after?”
Before I could agree, I caught sight of the storage room in front of me and gasped. It was the size of a floor at Ikea. Although I’d worked at the Library of Congress, I wasn’t numb to the absolute pleasure of being beside so many documents and materials that helped tell the story of America’s creation. It took everything I had not to run and dance through the aisles. I glanced at Leo, unable to form words, but hoping that my entire being beamed my excitement. He laughed and nodded. I didn’t need more assurance but took off to explore the storage space, a literal warehouse of history.
There was a rack with paintings and prints by John Singleton Copley, William Peale, and other notable early American artists. I spotted an 18th-century powder horn carved by John Bush, one of the earliest known African American artists. There were document boxes filled with letters, diaries, and other written materials from an array of early American people: founding fathers and mothers; abolitionists and enslaved people; loyalists and patriots; visitors from other countries; and so many more. An entire section was dedicated to the native peoples whose lives were turned upside down by the colonists.
I don’t think I saw more than a small percentage of what the family had collected over the generations. To see how this reflected what a rich and remarkable collection they must have felt like an understatement. I felt I could spend years here before I got to know everything they had preserved.
“You might find this section interesting,” said Leo, leading me over to an area dedicated entirely to Maryland history. He pointed out a cabinet focused solely on Rose Mallow. My whole body tingled with excitement.
I perused the file folders inside. There wasn’t much from the earliest years in the 1600s, but I noticed a preponderance of old Irish surnames: ó Dubhghaill, ó Súilleabháin, Breathnach, among others. My hand found my mouth. Was it indeed possible? Could one of these families have brought the Kells’ covers here? I wanted to go through everything, but there wasn’t time now. I wished I had my phone to take photos. My quick examination yielded nothing obvious about the Kells, but it was possible I had missed a good deal.
“You never answered my question,” Leo said. I looked up, not remembering what that question was as I had become so engrossed in the files. He laughed. “Dinner?”
I shook my head. He immediately looked crestfallen. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean no. I just meant what an idiot I was for forgetting. I was so overcome by this remarkable collection. It’s beyond incredible.”
“So, is that a yes or a no?”
Before I could answer, a young man and woman appeared in the room, laughing loudly and carrying what looked like a large bottle of wine with them. The man looked like a younger version of Leo, so I assumed this must have been his brother. I wondered if I had been wrong, and if he had been the man who had followed Tess. I wished I had paid more attention.
They looked more dressed for a nightclub than the golf club. He sported a shiny black shirt with a gold dragon over the left shoulder. The shirt had a few buttons open, exposing way too much of his smooth chest. Her dress was bright red, extremely low cut, and clung to her every curve while glittering with sequins.
Given the woman’s smeared make-up, I wondered if they had just come home from a very long night out. I didn’t know of any nightclubs near Rose Mallow, so I suspected they had driven quite a distance.
“Leo! Leo! Leo!” the young man chanted his name and raised the bottle up high. Upon closer inspection, I could see that it wasn’t wine but Dom Perignon champagne. I knew little about champagne, but I suspected this wasn’t the cheap stuff I picked up at the local wine store to make mimosas.
“Leo, Leo, Leo,” the woman copied him, although her words were far more slurred and with an accent I couldn’t place. She hung onto his other arm with about as much conviction as the tight dress nearly falling off her shoulders.
“Cecil. Why are you down here?” Leo’s voice took on a tinge of anger, but he kept his face stoic and straight.
Cecil nodded his head towards me. “Same as you, looks like. Somewhere secret to get away from good old Daddy’s prying eyes.”
“This is Juniper Blume. She’s a librarian from the Library of Congress.” I spotted tints of red poking up along his neck. I noticed he gripped his hands tight.
“Seriously, Leo? A librarian. I mean, excuse me,” he said, briefly turning towards me with an abrupt nod, “But come on. You finally come back home after all this time away, and you still can’t live a little? I mean, at least she’s cute.”
“Excuse me?” I spoke up.
“Leave her alone. She’s not some….” He stopped before describing Cecil’s date with a word he’d obviously regret.
“Oh, Elsa here? How are you doing, sweetheart?” Cecil asked her. She gave a weary thumbs up. “No offense, uh, Junie.…”
“Juniper,” I said.
“Right, right. Whatever. Anyway, Leo, you’ve been gone awhile. You can’t just come back and have a whole big hurrah over this Kells thing and expect everyone in the family to suddenly jump in line.” Cecil punctuated his thoughts with the champagne bottle.
“That’s not what I’m trying to do,” Leo replied.
“Hey, more power to you, you know? If I had failed as spectacularly as you did in Italy, I’d probably have rushed home with my tail between my legs, too. I mean, sure, I respect that you’re trying to cover up that disaster with this far-fetched scavenger hunt.”
“I want to go on a scavenger hunt,” said Elsa. Her accent struck me as Scandinavian, but I wasn’t positive.
“Hang tight, honey. We’ll play a few games in a bit,” replied Cecil. I felt gross listening to him, but Elsa just giggled.
“Get out.” Leo nearly whispered the words.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to go on a scavenger hunt or two with the stunning Elsa here. Did you know she’s the daughter of the Swedish ambassador?” He laughed and sauntered toward his date.
“Cecil. Get out. Now.” Leo’s voice was considerably stronger this time.
Cecil stopped in his steps. Elsa turned with a wide-eyed expression. “CeCe, maybe we could go back to my place?”
Cecil locked eyes with Leo. Neither spoke, but they stared deep at each other for a long time. I felt awkward witnessing this. Elsa looked entranced. Her gaze darted between the two of them as if she were at Wimbledon.
Just as I almost broke in, Cecil beat me to the punch and said, “All right, all right. Honey, we’ll find somewhere else to play our ‘reindeer games.’” I shuddered at his smarmy style and felt instantly relieved when the two strolled back out of the storage room.
“I’m so sorry about that,” said Leo with a shake of his head.
“It’s not your fault. I mean, unless, did you want to talk about it?”
Leo looked at me like I had spoken an unknown language. I wanted to shrink down. Then he dropped his head towards his chest. “No, it’s okay. My brother may be a creep, but unfortunately, he’s right. All of this…” He waved his arms around the room. “And the hunt for Kells is a chance to start anew. Cecil has a head for business, but unfortunately, that’s not my specialty. My passion is history. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this is a stunt.”
“What happened in Italy?” I asked. I still wanted to find out if he was the man I’d seen go after Tess at the Purple Oyster, but I had a feeling I’d be kicked out of the site and given a restraining order if I tried right now.
He shook his head. “Sometimes research projects don’t always pan out.”
“What were you researching?” I asked.
“I led an expedition to find the lost hoard of King Alaric,” he replied.
I shook my head. I knew a lot about history, but I didn’t recognize the name at all. “King who?”
“In the early 400s, Alaric of the Goths sacked Rome. He then held the city hostage until the Roman senate coughed up over 5,000 pounds of gold and 30,000 pounds of silver. Hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth today. They still looted the city for three days. Then Alaric and his thugs headed south with their treasure, terrorizing the region,” Leo explained.
“Oh wow. I hadn’t heard about any of this.”
“I’m not surprised. Most people haven’t, even though it’s this immense treasure that disappeared.”
“What happened to it?” I asked.
“Alaric died before he could cross into North Africa. Supposedly, the treasure was buried with him under the Busento River in southern Italy, and everyone who knew the location was murdered.”
“That’s messed up.”
“Yeah, it really is. And it’s been missing for centuries,” he said.
“So you thought you’d find it?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I tried. I failed.”
“That’s quite the concise synopsis.”
Leo laughed. “Yeah, well, it’s an understatement. I invested a lot of money, brought a lot of so-called experts with me, and spent about three years on the venture. We found absolutely nothing.” He opened and closed his right hand like a magician to illustrate his point.
“So why are you trying again with the Book of Kells?” I hoped I didn’t sound snarky asking, but I couldn’t believe that after such a spectacular failure, someone could turn right back around and try again so quickly and easily. I wasn’t sure if that was a sign of resilience or being stubborn.
Leo nodded. “I mentioned that this collection was created by my grandfather, right? Can I show you something?”
He walked the aisles until he found a nondescript gray box on a shelf. He pulled it out and carried it over to a table. I watched as he opened it, flipped through various folders, and picked out a few photographs. He spread them out across the table. The photos were all in black and white, although based on the material of the photographs and the clothing people wore in them, they seemed to come from different time periods.
“My family made its fortune in several ways. Railroad barons, bank owners, shipping magnates. If there was a new way to make money, my ancestors loved to try it out. Sometimes they failed, but they succeeded often enough,” Leo said.
“So your family has developed some strong stomachs for failure.”
“You could say that. And they didn’t just love exploring new business opportunities. They also loved exploring. This is a photo of my great-great-grandfather and grandmother following a paleontological dig in Montana.” He pointed to the oldest image. It was a carte-de-visite, mounted on a card featuring two people in a photographer’s studio holding up a large, fossilized femur. I suspected it was from a dinosaur or maybe a wooly mammoth.
“Here’s my great-grandparents on an early expedition to Japan.” This couple sat in front of a pagoda-style temple with an enormous mountain behind them.
“And here’s my grandfather.” He held up a smaller black-and-white photograph of a man in a military uniform. “Have you ever heard of the Monuments Men?”
“The program that sent curators and historians into World War II to save priceless art from being stolen by the Nazis?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s the one. He was part of that effort. Helped recover the Ghent Altarpiece from a salt mine in Austria.” As he spoke about his ancestors, I noted the pride in his voice.
“All of this is because of their efforts.” Leo spread his arms out wide.
“Incredible. So you wanted to follow in their footsteps and lead an expedition yourself?”
“Basically, yes. I don’t have the head for business that my siblings have. And they don’t have my love for history and culture. They constantly start new businesses, and most implode. No one blinks an eye because, eventually, one takes off. I wish they’d have the same understanding for my search for history’s missing treasures,” Leo said.
Everything he said made sense to me. Like me, he was obviously deeply influenced by his grandparents and had inherited their love of history and adventure. Unlike me, he had significant resources at his fingertips that could try to solve some of these cultural mysteries. I was feeling a little jealous of that distinction. I also felt bad that his efforts had not yet succeeded and were obviously not appreciated, at least not by his brother Cecil.
“I was going to say yes, you know.”
He looked surprised. “To dinner?”
“Yes. If that’s still an option?” Truth be told, my motives were only partially pure. I thought he was attractive, but just as much, I was curious about Leo Calverton. Was he the one who ran after Tess? Was all of this a stunt to impress his family? What else existed in these archives?
“Great,” Leo replied, looking relieved. “What do you think of going to the Indigo Room? It’s been a long time since I’ve been there, but I remember it being very nice.”
“Sounds good.”
“Very nice” sounded like it was a swanky place with an expensive menu. I didn’t think anything like that had existed in Rose Mallow. Had the Indigo Room existed when I was last here? If it had been here when I was a teen, I’m sure I would have considered it too fancy. Now I hoped I had a dress nice enough to wear.
As I finished up with Leo’s tour and headed back to the golf club, I glanced across through the hallway windows and spotted Orson outside arguing with the other man I had seen yesterday in the Purple Oyster—the one I had imagined was with the mafia. As with before, he wore another well-cut suit, although from the distance, I couldn’t tell if it was navy or gray today.
Although I couldn’t hear them, the action between them was dramatic. Orson waved his arms, obviously unhappy with the man. Oddly enough, the gentleman looked almost relaxed. He stood beside an iron table and occasionally stopped to sip on something in a teacup. I guessed it was coffee or tea. Orson became so enraged at this that he knocked the cup from the man’s hand. Again, he seemed to take it in stride, simply leaning over to pick it up. Orson apparently gave up after this and stomped away.
The man sat back down at the table and signaled to a waiter to refill his teacup. Before drinking again, he paused and looked directly at me. Our eyes locked, and I felt as if he recognized me, although I didn’t know who he was. Goose pimples spread across my arms. I pulled away from his gaze and speed walked away as fast as I could politely manage.